A/N: Well, it's Monday. Happy midnight posting. :) The final chapter!
O
Yassen heard the skidding of tires on pavement not five minutes after Smithers had unceremoniously ended the call. He checked his clip absently, mainly out of habit, as he gently tugged a curtain to the side to look out over the back parking lot. The need for secrecy was long since past; they were certainly as aware of him as he was of them. Several black vans had circled their stolen sedan, followed by no less than six BMWs that set up shop around the perimeter. The agents and officers emerging from the vehicles were a broad mix of plain clothes officers and suited spooks.
Scorpia would have no need for such dress up if they intended to strike; between that and Smithers' phone call, Yassen was confident the CIA had finally arrived.
Dropping the curtain, Yassen set his gun atop the nearest counter before returning to Alex's bedside. "I suppose it's time to face the music. I imagine prison will be quite boring compared to this," he mused aloud.
A soft groan.
"Alex?" Yassen touched his arm, heart climbing into his throat as the boy's face contorted.
A ragged hiss. "Fuck, everything hurts."
Yassen couldn't help the strangled laugh that tripped out of him. "Language, little Alex."
"Where are we?" Alex's voice grew even softer. He still hadn't opened his eyes.
"Ski lodge," Yassen told him shortly. "The CIA are outside."
Prying open one eye, Alex tried to sit up, but Yassen dug his hand into his shoulder before he could go anywhere with that spectacularly bad idea. That little nugget of wisdom seemed to penetrate, or at least a fresh wave of pain because Alex hissed through his teeth again. The round Yassen had fired into his chest had probably fractured something. "How did-"
"It's fine. They should have a medic with them. Just stay down and you probably won't die."
Alex seemed to partially heed his advice. He lay back against the bed and shut his eyes. "Yeah, I only half got there anyway. Jack's not burning any more because she's in the ocean. Dad says you're doing great. Mum says we're going to be okay."
Yassen patted his arm. "Okay."
Alex was still in shock. It was far from a good sign, but at least he'd temporarily regained consciousness. He wasn't out of the woods, but at least his incoherent rambling was confirmation that he wasn't going to die of blood loss in the next ten minutes. Actually…
Yassen hiked up the blanket and glanced again at Alex's stomach, exposed so that Yassen could get at the wound. Alex's skin was unmarred, save for the hints of bruising to come. The diamond shaped sores were nowhere to be seen. He let the blanket drop back in place with a frown. Was it possible that he'd been mistaken? He checked again. The light had been dim before, but the signs of anthrax had been clear as day. He couldn't have imagined them. Upset wasn't the same as delusional- he hardly hallucinated them.
Besides, Smithers' insistence that he conceal the blood transfusion had him on edge. He'd disposed of the needle and tubing as instructed, carefully removing an electrical outlet from the wall and shoving the remnants into the gap in the drywall inside before replacing it. The mysterious, disappearing anthrax symptoms were likely related to man's rationale, but what did it mean? What was Smithers' endgame? If the boy were doomed to die as a walking biohazard, would the gadget master really endanger others by encouraging Yassen to conceal it? Then again, like Yassen, he might have other priorities….
Something pounded the door of the first aid room. "Gregorovich. This is Tamara Knight. I'm unarmed and I have two paramedics with me. Can we come in?"
"I'll unlock the door," Yassen called. As much as he hated announcing his location, it was better than getting shot by a trigger happy operative. He twisted the deadbolt back with a pointedly loud crack and stepped away.
The blonde woman from Kingman pushed it open, sizing him up from behind the neat little bandage attached to the bridge of her nose. With carefully telegraphed movements, she held the door open with her non-splinted hand for the two EMTs hauling a rolling yellow stretcher behind them. They had a practiced tension to them as they quickly surveyed the room, suggesting a familiarity with clandestine operations as they obviously knew better than to trust their surroundings.
Yassen took a few more steps back to give them ample room and little reason to delay. Whatever energy had been imparted by his excitement of Alex waking had evaporated. Now he just wanted a smoke and a nap. Instead, he settled for watching the paramedics' every move as they reached the bed and began assessing his vital signs. "He was shot in the hip with a .45 mm at a distance of fifteen feet maybe ninety minutes ago. He was conscious just now but he passed out again. He takes xanax, cannabis, and he's an opiate addict, so consider that before you inject him with anything."
The olive skinned EMT spared him a quick glance, quickly pulling a saline bag from the depths of his equipment. "How much blood did he lose?"
Yassen dragged a hand across his face. "No idea."
"Did he sustain any injuries to his spine or head?" The second paramedic demanded, fitting a breathing mask over Alex's face and consulting a small heart rate monitor he'd attached to the boy's finger. Obviously didn't like what he saw.
"I don't think so. He has other injuries on his chest, but he should be safe to move."
Ms. Knight had been watching him as intensely as he'd been studying Alex. "Whoever shot him, are they in the area?"
"Scorpia." Yassen fished out his pack of cigarettes. Glancing at Alex's breathing mask, he sighed and tucked them away again. "Long gone by now."
"We'll see about that." Ms. Knight pulled out her phone and hit a button, walking to stand in front of the door. Yassen ignored her as she relayed the information, at least until she approached him again. "My boss would like to meet with you."
Yassen favored her with an apathetic stare. Intellectually he knew he'd have to muster the energy to play mind games with whomever was destined to try and pry information out of him. Trekking solo through the desert of Afghanistan hadn't been as exhausting as dealing with one Alex-sized emergency, though. Yassen waved a hand at where the paramedics were wrapping Alex's hips with a sheet to stabilize the injury before moving him onto their stretcher. "He knows where to find me."
She hesitated. "I think you'll be very interested in what he has to say. He's waiting-"
"I don't care." Yassen had no idea what to make of Smithers' phone call, but he was able to glean one thing: the CIA wanted him for something. Scorpia intel, most likely. If the gadget man was right in his assertions that they weren't intending to throw him in prison, then his cooperation was of paramount importance. He could afford to dig in his heels a little.
The second paramedic nodded to the door, dragging the stretcher behind him with practiced movements. "We've got to get him into surgery," he informed Tamara.
Yassen trailed after them, pretending not to notice Ms. Knight's stiffening as he passed within striking distance of her. He'd already left his handgun on the counter, but he didn't blame her. He still had no intention of letting Alex out of his sight.
The paramedics wheeled him out into the parking lot, yanking open the nearest of the oversized black transit vans to reveal a mobile clinic. Yassen glanced around at the machines bolted along the walls and ceiling as well the various packages of equipment set into the lowlit recesses. It was essentially a covert ambulance. In fact, none of the vehicles in the parking lot were marked by what they were.
Interesting. He'd rather expected at least one departmental logo. Such subversion could only mean so many things: either Yassen was about to be executed discreetly, or they didn't want anyone, including any other agencies on American soil, to know that they'd been located. While Yassen had learned not to underestimate the sticking power of a grudge, he rather suspected it was the latter. Otherwise, the CIA wouldn't have done this fly-by-night bullshit; they'd have come blaring in with the cooperation of every other department they could muster support from and claim that his death had been 'unavoidable'. Not to mention that this should have fallen under the FBI's jurisdiction in the first place.
What had Smithers arranged exactly? Yassen crossed his arms as the EMTs wheeled Alex up the ramp and locked his stretcher into place. Calling the CIA was a little too specific a move, especially considering the organization's fairly close relationship with MI6. However, in the intelligence world, such a relationship could never be truly transparent. Smithers could have either betrayed them or struck some kind of deal on the side. Again, Yassen didn't like having such little information, but the man's insistence that Alex leave the country tonight suggested he feared some outside force's involvement, the most likely candidate being MI6. If he'd struck a deal with them, Alex's specified travel arrangements wouldn't be necessary unless he planned on double crossing the agency soon enough.
No, it was unlikely that Smithers had sold them out.
Two men approached him, faces grim. It took only half a glance for Yassen to know that they were in charge. Expensive suits, mid fifties and mid forties respectively, with the measured footsteps of those who made decisions and only occasionally answered for them. The two armed agents hovering behind them as obvious security measures were another tip off.
For his part, Yassen didn't allow his expression to flicker as they approached.
To their credit, no one tried to shake his hand as they drew level with him, though their expressions remained cordial. The older of the two spoke first. "Mr. Gregorovich. I'm deputy director Robert Lamp, here to represent Joe Byrne. He sends his apologies, but he could not be here himself on such short notice. My companion is Leonid Abramoff, our liaison with the Russian SVR. We'd like to discuss the contents of a flash drive we found embedded in a car key taken off your person following the incident on Air Force One."
Yassen stared at him.
Of all the dreadful ways that he'd imagined that this conversation could go ever since Smithers' call- demands that he flip on Scorpia, deals for every remaining pint of his blood to be drained for study, a miserable life in quaratine, or even agreeing to do shadow work for the CIA to earn Alex's freedom and upkeep, absolutely everything he'd considered they might possibly want from him- he'd never once thought that they would want to chat about his fucking diary. "Pardon?"
Lamp continued, "I'll be transparent with you. We haven't fully decrypted it yet, but what we have is enough to make it clear that you have some information Mr. Abramoff's people would be extremely interested in knowing. Come. We'll discuss it on the plane."
At least they wanted something from him. Something he could dangle, since fighting his way out would only be at odds with Alex's survival. Covert pieces were moving on a chess board he couldn't see, and Smithers' hadn't had the time nor the inclination to apprise him of it. He would just have to trust the man's assertion that they not be separated.
The olive skinned EMT approached the door, motioning to close it at Lamp's nod.
"Wait." Yassen didn't turn his head, but judging from the way the paramedic froze, it had been understood to whom he'd been speaking. "He'll be coming with us."
The paramedic's mouth dropped open. "This kid needed to be in surgery hours ago-"
"Mr. Lamp," Yassen said, voice even, low, and very, very hard. "Whatever deal you intend to offer me will obviously involve my freedom to some extent. I'm not foolish enough to think it an oversight that I'm not handcuffed. However, let me be clear: I will not make any deals that don't involve Alex coming with me right now."
"I assure you, Mr. Gregorovich, Alex will be safe here. Mr. Byrne has made arrangements for the best medical team-"
"Then arrest me. I will not cooperate."
Lamp's eyes darted between the ambulance and Yassen. "I'm afraid I don't understand the point of your demand. He will die without care. Our deal-"
"Then get it for him. His survival is obviously part of my conditions," Yassen said coldly. "Figure something out."
Abramoff stepped forward for the first time, staring Yassen directly in the eyes, arms crossed as he considered him. Precious seconds trickled away as he stood toe to toe with the contract killer in a deliberate invasion of his personal space. His English was excellent, but unlike Yassen, he'd been unable to quite rid himself of the accent clinging to his hard consonants. "Forgive my forwardness, but time is of the essence. Allow me to ensure that we have an understanding: if the boy comes with us on the plane, right now, you will talk to me about the fall of Estrov?"
It felt like his chest had been scooped empty, while simultaneously filled with small explosions, engulfing the rest of him in flame. Good thing Jack wasn't burning anymore; there was hardly room for two human candlesticks in Alex's life.
Yassen took a small inhale. "I will tell you everything I know."
The man leaned towards him. "But you were there? You saw it?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Ah. So they really hadn't decrypted everything. "I lived there as a child. I escaped. My family did not."
Abramoff drew in a ragged breath. Yassen felt about the same, though he knew it had to be for different reasons. The Russian intelligence liaison was staring at Yassen like a golden goose that might take flight at any second. He turned to Lamp. "Put the boy on the plane."
"Sir-" the paramedic interjected.
Lamp set his jaw. "How long can he go without the surgery?"
"A few hours, at best. He hasn't regained consciousness. We have a long drive to consider-"
Hissing through his teeth, Lamp waved an impatient hand. "But he is stable enough for transport?"
"Barely, but sir-"
Robert Lamp grimaced and shot Yassen an irritated look. "You better sing like a bird or Byrne's going to have my goddamn head. He likes that kid, but my orders are to get you in the air before anyone gets wind that you were here." He turned to the guard next to him. "Call ahead. Tell them we'll need an emergency surgical team on the plane in less than an hour. Like Morocco. They'll operate in the air."
The paramedic could barely speak through his clenched jaw. "Sir?"
"Reroute to the airfield with the rest of the team," Lamp ordered him. He turned to Yassen and gestured to a BMW parked beside them. "Let's get on the road." At Yassen's pointed look, he added, "We'll stay in sight of the van at all times. Will that satisfy you or would you rather we have this conversation in the boy's lap?"
Yassen allowed him a nod. "Very well."
Abramoff tugged open the door for him. "So, Mr. Gregorovich, are you ready to go home?"
O
A/N: Probably a good time now to confirm that I've written the sequel to this story, right? Yeah. So I did.
First chapter of that story is up next Monday, same as always. Have a great week and please stay safe!
